


Sound of Violence

by pornoverse



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 14:32:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1714058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pornoverse/pseuds/pornoverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Grand Theft Auto V Storyline</p>
<p>Michael no longer has a grip on his life. With his wife living with her new boyfriend and both the kids moved out to their own separate lives, Michael is made to live his life alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Predictability

Drowning out the music in his backyard, Micheal takes a sip from his glass and peers off into the distant skies that lay before him. The day had remained awfully quiet with not even the loud screams of his argumentative teens breaking the silence. Plus, he deserved this time; he had just returned from Dr. Friedlander was not not in the mood to hear another person's problems.

The doors into the kitchen flew open and the familiar sound of his wife's flip flops managed to sneak into his headphones. He pulled one bud out and watched her make her way over to him, holding her sunhat firmly against her head.

“What is it now, Amanda?” He questions, looking up at her over the rim of his glasses.

She waves her hand to banish the music and only speaks once he pulls the second bud out.

“Micheal, I am moving out to live with my boyfriend John.” She begins, a small smile fluttering to her lips when he pulls off his glasses fully out of shock. “He has a nice home up in the mountains and I will be joining him there. Jimmy and Tracey can decide which parent they want to spend their time with.”

He had his eyebrow raised, his hand moving to the whiskey glass out of habit. “So you're telling me, I get to have the whole house to myself if I can convince the kids to stay with your ass?”

The smile faltered and Amanda huffed. “Well, if that's what you think about all this Micheal, then I guess you couldn't be happier that I was going to live with him.”

“Is he calling for the moving truck or is that my problem?”

She felt betrayed, at least by the expression that made it's way onto her face. She nodded her head but not without bending down and smashing the whiskey glass—and the bottle of the whiskey—onto the ground.

“That was unnecessary!” He screamed.

She pulled open the door into the house, screaming back, “Oh shut up you alcoholic fuck.”

Michael sat up in the pool lounge, feet back into his slippers. He let his elbows rest against his knees, hands holding up his head as he pondered. He took one look at the spilled alcohol on the tile and sighed. This was a surprisingly peaceful encounter with his still-legally-married wife. 

Grabbing a towel, he used it to scoop up the glass and threw it in the trash as he made his way into the house. Amanda hadn't come to retrieve anything, and Micheal knew she was expecting him to get angry and beg for her not to, and he wasn't sure when to expect her back.

So he made his way up to the bedroom and made sure that, should she come back, he would express his way of being angry through a more De Santa way.

And the De Santa way to show someone you care about that they piss you off is to go into their room and pretty much destroy anything that they hold dear to them. And much like when Micheal threw a chair at his son's television screen, he was going through Amanda's clothes and lingerie and throwing anything he couldn't rip up out the window.

To his amazement after going through half her underwear drawer and only 10 hangers of her favorite clothes did his anger finally subside and he was able to lay himself onto his bed and close his eyes.

–

The phone rang. It was answered after the second ring.

“This is Trevor Phillips. Better not be no fucking telemarketers-”

“Good morning to you too, Sunshine,” Michael greeted, receiving a snort from Trevor. “What are you doing right now?”

“Hmm,” he mumbled, the sound of shuffling coming through the earpiece. “I seem to be doing some drugs, Mikey. How about you?”

Micheal looked down at his feet, which had no pair of shoes on them, and peered up at the gate to his house which he happened to be on the other side of. He was glad to be holding a phone to his ear. “The cops kicked me out of my house until Amanda leaves because she saw that I tore up her shit and thought I was gunna tear up her shit.”

Trevor chuckles, letting out a deep sigh, “That's something the old Townley would do, that's for sure. You telling me all those stories of old girlfriends who you'd tear any of the shit they had given you the moment they broke up with you. Mikey has a easy heart to break, that's for sure.”

“Fuck you, T,” he said with a frustrated sigh, “Can you just come and pick me up or something? I am kind of embarrassed sitting out in the driveway in my boxers watching a pair of cops on the opposite side of the gate make sure I don't enter the premises while Mrs. De Santa is cleaning up her stuff. She made me look abusive.”

“You given up the life of a criminal for the life of a stereotypically abusive husband?” Trevor began to tsk at Micheal.

“Fuck you dude,” Micheal whispered it with an angry tone behind it. “I never fucking hit her damnnit, this isn't a joke, asshole.”

“Give me 15 minutes, you fucking ass.” Micheal could Trevor get ready.

Micheal moved to lean against the wall of his gate and just sat himself down on the grass and waited.

–

“So, let me get this straight,” Trevor began, lighting a cigarette as they pull up to a red light. “Amanda is moving out with some douche bag named John. You told her it's okay. She smashed your whiskey, you ripped her shit. And now your ass is moping in my car because you totally care for this woman but you don't give a fuck anymore.”

Micheal was in fact moping in the passenger seat of his car. He looked like a child who had been punished and taken off the playground. It was as if Michael was so upset that he didn't get what he wanted, he grew irrational and destroyed shit to clear his mind. And it was, because Trevor knew that was exactly what Micheal was saying beneath the surface and Michael was mad because Trevor was right like always.

“I didn't say that-” Michael began, but Trevor hushed him.

With a laugh, he said, “You said that last time, dude. I saw it when Franklin told me about the time you pulled off a dude's balcony cause the dude was fucking Amanda. Same when you told me about how you smashed Jimmy's television. You always tell me that you're not irrational or that it isn't the way you deal with the shit you feel. But then I see it, Michael, I see your impulsiveness, I see the way you work. From the outside, I can tell you're a lying piece of shit.”

Michael sighed, shaking his head. Trevor wasn't expecting a response—he never was with Michael because he already knew what Michael should say, and so did Michael, so he always let the silence be a way of Michael telling him that he was right. Peering out the window, he finally opened his mouth.

“She gets to have all these fucking people to sleep with,” he began, “And my ass gets stuck jerking quietly off in the bathroom watching porn off my phone. She gets to use my money to fuck a tennis coach, now she gets to use his money, which when she kicked me out of the house was happily disclosed as being more than I have, and making sure that every ounce of my ego is burned.”

“Well, don't you think she cares. That's why she reacted oh-so-rationally as well but knocking over your shit.” Trevor shook his head. “It's like maybe if she hadn't married you, she wouldn't be like your fucking exact clone. Micheal. And Amanda. But both are Michael.”

Michael turned to Trevor with a confused expression on his face but Trevor waved it away. “What I'm trying to say is is that to me, Mike, you're extremely predictable. Your wife, on the other hand, is not. Unless she is exactly like you then she would be, in fact, pre-”

“Get to the fucking point Trevor!”

“What I am saying is,” he repeated, trying to calm both their tones, taking a drag of his forgotten cigarette. “Is that you give a fuck about Amanda but you don't know how to deal with it so you'd rather see her go because it'll ultimately make your stupid ass feel better.”

Michael didn't respond to Trevor. Which was all and good because that meant to Trevor that Michael was giving up before Trevor was right; another predictable move from the ever predictable Michael De Santa. But Trevor also knew not to push on because as predictable as Michael was, he was also volatile and had a temper that nobody could ever predict it's intensity.

The end result of the conversation left both men in a quiet state. Michael was looking out the window at the passing foliage while Trevor quietly smoked two more cigarettes and watches the afternoon sun glisten off in the horizon.

Their destination was Franklin's house up in the mountains. He had settled himself nicely with the money while the other two had preferred to stay in the houses they had originally settled for—to be fair, Trevor bought a nicer and more functional trailer home.

“Why are we here?” Michael asked with a raised brow as he was still in his boxers and had expected to find sanctuary at Trevor's house. “I'm not exactly dressed to meet our young protege right now.”

Trevor slammed the door, heading up to the front door, saying, “As if he had ever given a fuck what your crusty old ass looked like.”

Michael wanted to take offense to it, and deep down he did, but he instead exited the vehicle and made his shoe-less way to Franklin's front door which Trevor left open for him.

In the living room stood three people; one was Trevor, one was Franklin, and a young woman who stood beside Franklin and seemed a little shy of Trevor. Dragging his feet over to the group, she giggled as he approached.

“Would you like me to get you some sweatpants?” She asked, looking up at Franklin before turning back to Michael. “I'm sure Frankie has some gym pants that would be able to fit you.”

Michael laughed. “No, I'm fine. I feel comfortable with being open with my boys. I do apologize for my indecency though. The name's Michael.”

He stuck his hand out and Trevor rolled his eyes. Franklin just peered at the two of them and laughed.

She grabbed his hand and smiled, “Melody.”

Trevor had his back turned to Michael. He slammed his hand against his friend's shoulder which made him flinch. “I hope ol' Trevor here didn't scare you, Melody,” he said with a smirk that Trevor noticed from the other side, “He tends to give that creepy vibe.”

She shook her head and laughed when Trevor turned to slap Michael in the back of the head. “I'm doing just fine. I've heard a lot about you two when he began to tell me more about his job. Obviously I was curious how he managed to stay home all the time and afford a mansion in the hills.”

“Glad to hear old Frankie has a soft spot for his crew,” Trevor put his hand over his heart, smiling. “Now are we all getting drunk or what!”


	2. The Sulken

“Jimmy's in jail.”

Michael was tired of Amanda. After yesterday, he was absolutely tired of her. In fact, if he had the option to cut all contact from his wife, he absolutely would. Yet here he was with his foot half into a pair of jeans, cursing his son and wishing that he didn't have to hear Amanda already.

It had been a week since she left. A week since he had to stand an unbearable hour in his driveway wearing nothing but boxers, his t-shirt, and a pair of socks. He was blessed to have finally had a long while of alone time and he still had to deal with other people's shit even when his family wasn't even living under his roof to begin with.

“What did he do?” Michael had asked the moment the words had come out. “I want to know what that little shit bag did and how I'm going to beat his ass when I bail him out.”

She sighed, “Be gentle with Jimmy. I get that he's an idiot but he's still our son and we have to help him.”

“I don't have to help anyone who fucks themselves over, Amanda,” he spits out as he slips into the car.

She doesn't say anything but the sound of John in the background makes Michael throw his phone into the passenger seat. It made him seethe from his seat, run his hands through his hair, and he could still hear Amanda's teeny voice in the background going “Michael? Hello? Michael, are you there? I can hear you, Michael.”

The police station wasn't too far but Amanda warned him again, when he finally picked up the phone, that he should not get angry with Jimmy. “He called me to tell me first, so I could tell you, because he thought I might be able to pick him up. So please don't hurt him when you get him, okay? This is not something I want to cause a rift between you two.”

“This little shit stain fucked up too much of my shit, Amanda. I swear to god I'll beat his ass when I see him.”

It's a tall building and Michael almost feels awkward stepping into the lobby of a place he feared he would end up countless of times. He runs his hands through his hair again in case he had roughed it up in anger in the car and stepped up to the reception desk.

The woman looked up and smiled, “Hello sir. How may I assist you?”

“I'm here to bail out my son. Jimmy De Santa.” 

She leafed through the paperwork but a frown appeared on her lips. “We don't have anybody named Jimmy De Santa. We do have a Juan De La Rosa if there's any correlation.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “It's still probably my shit stain of a son.”

She let out a light chuckle, probably out of politeness, and called him over to the door. “We'll bring Mr. De La Rosa to the visitors room and you can see if it's your son.”

Michael stepped past the barred doors and peered around at the jail cells he could see off to the side. He felt uncomfortable because police stations were not something that Michael had any fond memories of. Shaking his head of the memories, he was finally led to a room full of chairs and glass walls with dividers. And lo and behold the one that the lady had told him to be seated at, the one that they would bring Juan De La Rosa to, was none other then fucking Jimmy.

“So Juan,” Michael said as he seated himself down, picking up the telephone. “I see you've finally embraced those Hispanic roots we don't fucking have.” 

“I told mom not to tell you! I gave the name so only mom would be able to get me. But here you are when I expected mom to be on the other side of the glass.”

“Listen here punk ass, your mom is probably getting speared by old Long John Silver at the mansion while I'm the one she called to bail you out and then not commit homicide when I get my hands on you,” Michael hissed out through the glass. 

“It's not my fault though,” Jimmy muttered, “It was the woman I am dating. She's psycho dad. She sent me to this dude's house and he fucking had a mask on and pointed a shotgun at me! They said they were just having fun but when the cops found me with heroine in my pocket, I wasn't having so much fun.”

“Why are you selling dope, you piece of shit?” Michael spit back. 

Jimmy sighed. “It's because that's the way I pay my rent! I want to go home but she says I'm in debt to her. So it's much better being here or bailed to your mansion.”

Shaking his head, he said, “Listen kid. I'm going to bail you out only this once. I expected looking at your sister through this glass for indecent exposure, not your lazy ass. We'll see if you even get to stay in the house with your bullshit.”

It was going to take four days for Jimmy's bond to process and for his release. In that time, Michael would be relaxing at his home.

–

Franklin had driven up to the De Santa residence before and typically unannounced. But since Michael never left the house, they had an unspoken agreement that it would be all right for him to come over. And he did arrive, just on time for their usual round of basketball games and beer chugging.

“Damn dawg,” Franklin said when he noticed the mess in the house, kicking over some napkins and hastily tossed shoes out of his path. “Don't you still have a housemaid? Or did she finally tell you that she was done with your ass too?”

Michael sulked on the couch and that's where Franklin had found him. “I fired her long before that. I was never home and Amanda was already on dick three by that time so neither was she. Tracey was off being her normal self and Jimmy had already moved in with his girlfriend's. What was there left for her to clean, anyway?”

“Well call her back. I'll pay extra to deal with you too,” he said with a sigh, looking over at Michael from where he stood. “You look like my high school days after my first girl left me. Except I was in my own room and nobody was looking at me.”

He grabbed the remote from just out of Michael's reach and began to switch channels on the projector television. Lucky for Franklin, Michael had been watched the pay per view porn channels on the television and the sports channels were just a few channels up.

“Sexy Milfs at the Beach,” Franklin read as he went up to the basketball game. “Well, you sure make sure to keep your tastes in check.”

Michael sighed, “They all look older then Amanda. Maybe I need to go back to standard porn.”

“Standard fake ass porn,” Franklin muttered, “Get yourself some ass, bro. You making me so sad that you chillin' here crying over your girl. She's not worth it if she left you, dog, especially for another dude. Just fucking get yourself some pussy and go wild.”

The way Michael tilted his head up and looked confused at Franklin made him cringe and almost have to look away. “And get yourself in the shower dude. You're embarrassing yourself by letting my ass see you like this.”

“You're the only cool dude that doesn't get bothered by this,” Michael said.

“I'm sure Trevor likes your gross ass. He knew you longer.”

Michael sighed. “He still holds a grudge from that time I faked my own death. He's pretty dead set on being angry about that.”

He rolls his eyes and seats himself beside Michael. “Of course he does! Do you honestly think that is anything someone would ever forget? Even if you prove that everything is different? I'd still be salty as fuck if that happened to me.”

“Everyone hates me,” and Michael begins to sulk and Franklin almost wants to slink out of the house and try to avoid the raincloud that is Michael De Santa. But Franklin doesn't leave.

“You owe me for this, dude,” Franklin says and turns the game up.

–

When Jimmy's released from jail and moved back into the apartment, it's kind of a win/lose situation for Michael. Sure, he has someone to now spend a little bit of time with during the silence in the house but now he has a child charged with heroine possession and probably going to jail in about a month. So the stress from having his son in the house is still making the situation a half-hearted lose.

Jimmy peers into the kitchen where Michael is staring at a coffee cup at the kitchen table. The room is only lit by the sunlight streaming in through the windows. He steps in quietly but Michael hears him.

“What do you want Jimmy?” Michael says in an soft tone, barely able to be heard above Jimmy's heavier breathing.

“How are you doing dad?”  
Michael lifts his head to tilt it in Jimmy's direction with a look telling him all he needs to know. Jimmy looks down at his socks and begins to shuffle his feet before frowning at them. 

Jimmy sighed, “Look dad. I know that you're not going to believe me because of the charges. I understand that the story is crazy and that you'd probably think I'm making it up too. But I swear that I'll do the time and try to come out a better son for you.”

“It's pointless,” Michael said bitterly, taking Jimmy aback, “I don't really care if you come out any kind of son. I'm not looking to be impressed by my children anymore.”

He doesn't respond and just watches as his dad tilts his head away. Those were never words that Michael wanted to utter—he was not that kind of father—but with the way his children were raised and the paths they took in life, it was safer for Michael to just lose all home.

“When is your court date?” Michael asked, a common question amongst them when it goes silent.

Jimmy replied, “In 3 weeks dad.”

Michael sighed, took a sip of his coffee, and leaned his back against the backrest. He didn't turn his attention to Jimmy who still stood at the door frame. He didn't even say anything in response to Jimmy. But he did slump down into his arms onto the kitchen table when he knew that Jimmy was back upstairs.

–

Franklin was right on one occasion; Trevor knew him the longest and most likely would be able to put up with Michael more. Especially the ones that were just common between the pair. So even though Michael knew that Trevor still harbored a grudge on him, they still were good enough friends and they still spoke as frequently as they did. 

One of their favorite spots when in the De Santa home is on the car park roof. It was a place where they could be alone, if they closed the window that overlooked it, and had a great view of the city from their position. And even though they have had many times where they had fallen off the roof drunk—surprisingly with minor injuries—they still drank whenever they were up there.

“You know,” Trevor said, “You're life ain't so bad now that Amanda's gone. She doesn't spend your money. She doesn't bother you. And she's no longer in the way of your wildest fantasies. She freed you up.”

It was Trevor trying to make lighthearted conversation after stating that Michael was the reason Amanda was as awful as she was. Michael had not wanted to hear about Amanda so with one bitter look, Trevor backed out of the topic. 

“Look, dude, I'm sorry for getting on you yesterday.” Trevor sighed.

Michael shook his head, “I needed it.”

“You didn't need it from an angry sack of shit like me.”

He laughed, nodding his head. “That is definitely something I didn't need.”

Trevor took a swig of his beer and let the silence overwhelm them. Sometimes it was exactly what either of them needed; quietness yet the comfort of a friend. It was how Michael had remembered their days when he was a Townley not a De Santa and the deja vu was comforting.

Michael could hear the sound of the garage door open and knew that Jimmy would be arriving home soon. “I let him take the car out this once but told him that if he gets caught I'm claiming he stole it.” 

That was such a Michael thing to do that Trevor couldn't help but laugh out loud at the statement. “You are not the best father out there, are you M?”

“I'm the best father in the world for bailing out my fucking son.” He slurred, grinning at the sky.

The sound of footsteps that turned the corner brought Michael back up to a sitting position while Trevor laid back still.

Jimmy was standing at the edge of the house when he finally saw him. “What you want, Jimmy?”

He frowned. “I just was wondering what you were doing.”

“None of your business. I'm here with Trevor,” he slammed his hand on Trevor's chest, causing him to bolt upright in pain.

But when Trevor got a good look at Jimmy, his eyes widened and a finger moved to point at him.

“You!”


	3. Father Dearest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing fan fiction in a long while so I apologize for any mistakes or terrible writing :/

Trevor was fit. Even at his age, he was always athletic so he was always ready to run if it was necessary. What Michael had never seen was Trevor leap down from the height that they were at and chase Jimmy, who's probably never run since high school.

Michael on the other hand took awhile to get down from his position, but he was fast once on the ground and already pushing Trevor off of him. “What the fuck is your problem, T? I know my son is a shitstain but you don't have the right to beat it out of him.”

“This is the little fucking heroine dealer that came by my house,” Trevor said, spitting in Jimmy's general direction. “The fuckhead that got my house raided and all my guns stolen. You are the worst drug dealer this side of the fucking ocean.”

Confused, Michael turned to Trevor. “Are you telling me your crazy shotgun antics are the reason my son is in jail?”

The situation that came up left Michael in almost a stupor. His son lay on the grass, peering up in fright at Trevor while Trevor looked back with anger blazing in his eyes. 

“Your stupid as fuck son is the reason I have the fucking drug cartel he works with up my asshole,” he said with another spit for added measure. “His ass lost my money and told them that I said I wasn't going to pay. Now they're asking me for my fucking finger for not paying back people I did fucking pay.”

Michael stepped back for a moment as Trevor bent down to be more at eye level with Jimmy. “You're going to cut off your stupid ass finger and you're going to tell them that you took the money for yourself and deal with the consequences.”

“I didn't know that's what would happen,” Jimmy cried out, hiding his face within his hands.

Trevor laughed, “What did you think would happen, dumbass? They'd just write up an IOU for me? That I owe them $200? You're the absolute worst.”

Putting his hand to his forehead, Michael didn't know how to feel. Watching his son on the brink of shit-staining fear left happiness in the back of his mind while still feeling upset that Trevor was attacking his son. 

“I'll pay them off,” Michael mumbled.

“Are you going to pay them six grand? Cause they're probably not going to ask you for $200. That'd be too easy.”

“Well tell me what to fucking do so I don't have drug dealers shooting me up whenever I see either of you!” Michael began to yell.

He was upset. Angry. He was getting tired of what these two had begun to put him through. He was tired already of what he dealt with Amanda; he was tired from having to bail Jimmy from jail. And now hearing that Trevor was behind the reason for his son's arrest just makes him almost seethe.

And finally, to release his anger, he turns his attention to Trevor, pulls back his arm and punches him as hard as he can on the jaw.

He goes down hard.

–

“What the actual fuck was that, Mikey?” Trevor asks when he finally awakens on the floor of the De Santa foyer. He has a ice pack to his jaw and he's finally stirring from the slumber that Michael put him through. Jimmy isn't nearby and Trevor doesn't hear him so he lets out a sigh that immediately reverberates against his jaw. He even attempts to frown.

Michael, on the other hand, stood at the side of Trevor. He peered down at the other one with his arms crossed. He didn't feel sorry or any remorse and it was shown with his neutral expression. He didn't even allow Trevor to have an answer.

“You're fucking psycho man,” Trevor says when he raises himself from the ground.

He can see the blood begin to pull at his hands from where a few back teeth had gone loose from the impact. He makes sure to spit the blood mess at Michael's socked feet but he doesn't respond when the wet mess hits his feet. In fact, he doesn't move at all when Trevor lets out another bloodied spit wad onto the polished flooring of the foyer.

They stand there for a moment and Trevor looks over at Michael with an expression that basically told Michael he was giving up. “Look dude, I understand that I put your son in jail. I didn't know it was your son because if that was the case I would have never hurt him. But the punch was incredibly unnecessary. That's the one shit of yours that I can never predict.”

He rolls his eyes and settles them down at his feet. He refuses to connect his eyes with Trevor even when he bends down to try to look at him. Michael would just shift his eyes a bit away from Trevor and back away completely should he try to press their faces together.

Eventually, Trevor moves to the kitchen, Michael following behind him but several steps back. He watches from the entry way as Trevor begins to stuff paper towel pieces into the back of his mouth to try to absorb some of the bleeding. That was when Michael began to wring his hands.

“Look,” Trevor says, stuffing another wad of paper towel into his mouth, “I'm going to go back to my house. I won't bother you again. You're so very volatile and it seems that you're only going to attack me.”

They stare at each other, direct eye contact, and Trevor only sees Michael nod before he's backing out of the kitchen doors and around to his car.

When he hears Trevor's car leave, he takes off his socks, throws them in the sink, and slumps down onto the floor.

–

He is immediately awoken by a call from Franklin. What he is surprised to hear is a very angry Melody on the line instead.

“Why the fuck did you punch Trevor, asshole?” She begins to scream and Michael really does not need this. 

In fact, he could hear Franklin in the background, and Trevor too, but he couldn't make out their words. But he could tell that they were telling her that she shouldn't have called Michael but she responds with, “And his stupid ass shouldn't hit another person. That's what fucking rude ass people do.”

When her attention is back to Michael, she screams, “So what the hell is wrong with you?”

Melody is a sweet girl and Michael learns that she's a general practitioner with her own office. That's one of the reasons that Franklin had originally got into contact with her; she was running in the underground wing and he had hoped she would be a private in home practitioner for them should they ever need it. Franklin called the fact that she was his girlfriend now a bonus.

“I didn't mean to-”

“His jaw is broken. I had to take him to the hospital, Michael,” she says, interrupting every word that Michael was trying to utter. “Four broken teeth. Other fractured facial bones. You could have killed him Michael!”

He let out a sigh, knowing no amount of words would ever get through to her. But he was glad that soon after the phone was handed over to Franklin.

When Michael tried to talk to him, someone he considered more reasonable, he wasn't surprised that Franklin would cut him off too.

“Look dude, Melody is a real doctor and she said that you had hit him in such a way that the wrong hand movement would have had him dead from being stabbed in the brain by his facial bones.”

Michael stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, laughing. “Guess I'll aim a little higher next time.”

“It's not funny dude,” Franklin interjects, “You're really turning into a lowlife asshole. The kind I expected Trevor to be acquainted with but not with that acquaintance being you.”

“I'm doing fine on my own.”

Franklin let out a huge laugh. “You fucking wish, fat ass. Every time one of us comes through, you're a fucking dumb ass sitting on your couch getting fatter by the minute. What did you jerk off to this week? Slutty Moms in Aprons 43?”

Michael wanted to hang up so badly. Wanted to make his friends disappear for a little bit. He wanted to shut off his brain, lay down under the covers of his bed, and try to sleep off the rest of the millennium off but instead he was listening to his friends again.

“If you don't want the help, fine,” Franklin sighed, “But we're not coming through again if you do need the help. We're not here to be your guardian angel dog. We're only here to fucking help your ass up but you gotta walk. Melody is done with your ass and frankly so am I, so we're outta here.”

For once, Michael was glad for the silence.

–

Jimmy was still around although not enough to be noticed. He was mostly within the confines of his bedroom or in the backyard enjoying the last few weeks of luxury he was allowed before he was going to be sent back to jail. Occasionally, Michael would sit with his son in the pool and kick back a beer, but after the telephone intervention that he had had the other day with Franklin and Melody, he was not exactly in the mood for other people. 

His son was keeping quiet as well, distracted by his own phone and not wanting to look Michael in the eye. Michael already felt angry with him, even if the anger had been misplaced and the punch he had surely meant for Jimmy was thrown at Trevor, and he wasn't going to upset him further.

“Dad?” Jimmy asked, breaking the silence by slipping back into the pool. “Where'd mom go anyway?”

Lifting his sunglasses off, he narrowed his eyes at his son. “She left to stay with some trash heap named John. If you'd prefer, for safety, you can go live with her but I'm not sure how well John is going to take to having a heroine dealer on his premises.”

Frowning, Jimmy nodded his head. “I just wanted to see her before I go. Do you think I can invite her over?”

“She'll bring sixteen cops and force me out naked into my driveway. No thanks.”

“You guys always fight, it's tiring-” Jimmy stopped when Michael lifted his hand up. He took a few steps back when Michael rose with it.

“Jimmy. Listen to me. I want to relax. I don't want shit to resurface with every conversation. I wanted peace with Trevor and I got him almost knocking your ass out.” Michael rubbed at his eyes before looking over at Jimmy again. He bent down to his eye level and sighed. “I want peace where I get to spend within 50 feet of my son, without a glass case separating us, and not have to hear about my bitch of a wife. Ex-wife. Do you understand?”

Unsure of how to react, he nodded his head. “I got it dad. I got it.” He then turned to swim back to his floating lounge chair and dragged himself back onto it.

Michael took that as his cue to return back to his own lounge chair beside the pool and pour himself another glass of whiskey. He put back on his sunglasses and tried to peek over his phone at Jimmy as he relaxed. 

The kid was his son. As stupid and impulsive, much like Michael, he is, he can't help but feel that fatherly bond with that idiot. He looked over at his phone, which had been open to a news app, before glancing back over at his son. Taking a glance at the drink next to him, he looked over at Jimmy. “Hey kiddo. Wanna drink with your dad? You're going to jail like him so I guess I'm going to start treating you like another me. And I love whiskey.”

He was frozen on his pool lounge because that was so incredibly uncharacteristic of Michael. He took it though, since he was not sure if that would be the last opportunity he would see of his father at peace and sat at the chair opposite of Michael. He didn't have another glass so he pushed his own to the other side, Jimmy taking it gingerly but downing it quickly.

“I know this isn't your first drink so take it like a man,” he said, pouring another glass and pushing it over to his son. 

Jimmy laughed. “Are you trying to get me drunk dad? It's not going to work.”

Michael rolled his eyes but a smile, the first one he's honestly had in a month, was creeping on his lips. “Get as drunk as your dad and we'll talk about the good old days. When you weren't selling heroine and you were just high all the time in your bedroom.”

Jimmy smiled too as he leaned his head back against the chair. “Those were the good old days dad,” he said with a laugh. “And all those time playing video games. That was the life.”

“The life I paid for,” Michael teased. “The life I spent my hard earned money giving you.”

“Retirement money,” Jimmy corrected, “I know it's not your true hard earned money since you never had any job to begin with. At least not until you started going into the criminal life again-”

“- And now I'm not longer in it. While my stupid son decided he was going to take my place.”

Jimmy turned his head to his father, scoffing. “I didn't know Rebecca was some kind of drug lord wife or whatever. She was hot, she wanted to bang me, come on dad you know that you would not pass up the opportunity. I got pussy and a side job. Even though the side job got me arrested.”

“You are my son, Jimmy, but you sure as hell are not like me. I would never take the opportunity for the job and I would have left her hanging. You don't mix business with pleasure. Why else do you think Amanda was oblivious to all of my shit?”

Jimmy shook his head, “Nobody was oblivious to your shit dad. Not even Mom. She knew what you were doing because she said you started to act just like you did before all this. She told me once that you started having life. That you were so boring after being dropped into witness protection she imagined old you when you two fucked. And I didn't need to know that.”

Slipping in was the conversations that Michael was trying to avoid having. He grabbed the glass Jimmy had finished and poured himself a glass to down. He shuddered as the sudden cold liquid thudded through his heated veins, and then set the glass down with a hearty thud onto the table. 

“I don't want to hear that shit, Jimmy.” Michael let his fingers slip under the sunglasses to wipe against his eyes. “I-I'm just tired of being reminded I'm a fuck up.”

“Nobody said you were a fuck up dad,” Jimmy sighed. “But you do do some fucked up shit.”


	4. Daddy's Got A Gun

Amanda did eventually stop by to meet up with Jimmy at the house. And after begging from Michael she promised to not come with any officers. It was a bittersweet family reunion, minus Tracey, and Jimmy made a comment that could be twisted to mean he missed his old family. Michael made it obviously he felt weird about the implication, and he could see Amanda was feeling the same, so Jimmy took a few steps back and apologized.

“Look Jimmy,” she begun, wrapping her arm around her son's waist. “Your father and I aren't in a relationship, legally still married, so enough talk about the old family. Just realize that shit is dead and buried.”

Michael raised an eyebrow, “What bit you in the ass?”

Amanda ignored his words and shuffled her son into the kitchen. It may have been a family reunion in the foyer but she had come to see Jimmy and continued to not want to show any politeness towards her ex-husband. He still headed in their direction as that was where his liquor cabinet was.

“Still the old drunk, I see,” she said with a smile, crossing her legs where she sat with Jimmy at the kitchen table. “Is it your crutch this time? Or are you really hoping to put yourself in the grave this time?”

He opened the liquor cabinet, grabbed his favorite glass, and opened the bottle of one of his special occasion bottles of alcohol. He took a sip before saying, “I'm hoping that if I drink enough, I can convince myself you're just a drunk hallucination, coming to piss me off.”

“So you still think about me while I'm gone?” Her smile had turned into a smirk at that point.

He rolled his eyes. “If you count think about how great you'd look dead, not exactly.”

“Can you guys stop fighting? I'm here to spend time with you guys.”

“Yeah. Spend time with your heroine dealing child.” And Michael left flipping the bird to Amanda.

He took himself upstairs, slamming the door to the master bedroom as if he was a teenage child sent to his room after an argument. He was upset, and absolutely childish when he can be, so he considered it a good strategy. He even almost stopped his feet and huffed into his bed but at that point he realized at just how child-like he was becoming.

Setting his glass down on the side table, he heads into the adjacent bathroom. It's too brightly lit from both the lights and the window and he feels suffocated in here regardless so he leaves the door open. He almost wants to jerk off into the sink, feeling that anger pooling into his stomach and giving him a partial hard-on from the adrenaline. But he doesn't because looking at the mirror only brings him self esteem down and his dick deflates with it. He palms at his hair, fumbles the loose strands, and adjusts his dick within the confines of his boxers.

–

“Franklin, why are you calling me?”

It's five thirty pm. Average time for Michael to finally be out and about. He's been napping on the couch, not finding it worth it to make his way up to the bedroom just to sleep. He's groggy and Franklin sounds anxious. It makes Michael feel a sort of unease in the pit of his stomach.

“Okay, okay. Promise your ass won't get mad,” Franklin begins, the sound of clattering in the background, “But I think your son's goons is beating on Trevor right now.”

There is a sound of crashing and Franklin making a sound of surprise at whatever that was. A few shots from a gun, obviously Franklin with the way it even pierced Michael's ear. “These are Rebecca's goons, holy fuck.” Another shot. Someone groans. “Like, I just need backup. Lamar's already here but I don't think we can handle this. Plus, we're in some fucking Chinese restaurant and this is not how I want to go down dog.”

Franklin hangs up immediately, leaving Michael in stunned silence. He didn't give him an address, but knowing Trevor, he'd only go to the one near the Vanilla Unicorn as Trevor ordered there almost every night he worked there. Of course, Michael didn't want to go. He had wanted to lay low, no more heists, no more guns, no more large amounts of money. He wanted peace with his taxable income and smoking cigarettes like he was living off them.

So why did Michael end up getting dressed, getting into his car, and driving the several miles to the Chinese restaurant as if he wasn't getting tired of this shit? Maybe he wasn't tired of the shit; especially not the guns and the large amounts of money, who's he kidding? Sometimes he believed, when the silence overtook him in his life, that he needed the high and the rush from committing a felony.

He slams open the restaurant doors and they go flying against the wall. It's made of glass so it ceremoniously breaks the glass and he watches as it sprays against the carpeting. Trevor is being held up against the wall, nose bleeding, with Franklin behind the counter with a gun pointed at the man holding Trevor.

Michael has his gun drawn, a gun he removed from his private stash for just this occasion. He figured they'd only be carrying handguns (he was right) and that his own rifle would easily murder them in a second. He had it aimed it at the last remaining thug, four guns drawn in total, with Trevor wiggling in the man's free hand.

“Ah, Michael. You're not very smart to be coming into this establishment,” the one holding Trevor's neck began. “You're not exactly wise enough to not remain out of things which do not pertain to you. We have Trevor and Trevor is all we need. You can disappear now, Mr. De Santa.”

He shoots a few rounds into the ground and Franklin ducks. The man doesn't even falter and Trevor looks like he's about to turn blue.

He laughs and Michael almost believes he's in a bad movie. “Are you trying to scare me? Nothing scares me when I am out to complete my contract. Kill Trevor Phillips. Reason: Large amounts of debt. And even if he paid it, which I'm sure is just pocket change to you, Michael, they still want him dead.”

He narrowed his eyes at Franklin who still remained behind the counter. It was funny because the patrons had already run out and not a single cop had arrived yet. He wouldn't be surprised if they worked for any of the police chiefs as many of them were easy to buy out in the long run. But Michael could still see the workers in the back kitchen and the way they stared at his face, as if to remember for a witness testimony, made him grow uneasy.

The one who was not holding up Trevor had his gun pointed at Michael. It was pointed in front of him, one handed, and his finger wiggled against the trigger. They were all ready to kill each other should the need or opportunity should rise and he was surprised not even Franklin had taken the chance to shoot at him.

“I'm not here to hear your philosophical words.” Michael spit, edging closer but only a few steps. “I am here to fucking protect my friend from you crazy fucks. So let him go and fucking get the hell out of here.”

He did drop Trevor, of course just by releasing his grip and telling Trevor fall to the floor of the restaurant and turned his attention to Michael. “Don't you ever speak to someone of higher importance than your fat little thieving ass. This was never your business, Michael. Never.”

He was instantly silence by a gun shot, which that time did startle him, and the other shot at Michael. It was a quick five seconds and Michael could feel the pain of a bullet that grazed him but was glad to be away from his aim. It was a quicker two seconds of shots from both Franklin and Michael before the two were dropped to the ground.

Trevor was nearly passed out when Franklin made his way over to him but Michael didn't step over until he was fully conscious. The sounds of his breath straining filled the restaurant and it took several more before Trevor could get up and exit the restaurant. Franklin on the other hand remained back with Michael as he didn't feel to right leaving the restaurant with two dead bodies. Rolling them in the curtains they quickly ripped from the windows and splashing water over the large pool of blood, they dragged the bodies out and into the back of Michael's car. Trevor was waiting by Franklin's.

“Aight, I'll follow you to Paleto Bay where we will gently roll them into the ocean,” Franklin said, before patting Michael on the back. “Thanks dude. Couldn't have done that shit without you.”

Michael nodded, slipping into the driver's seat, and driving off.

–

At the end of the dock sit Franklin and Michael, sans Trevor who decided he would make the walk home to his trailer house. They shared a cigarette and a blunt that Franklin had stashed in his glove compartment. Michael looked tired, he always did, and he felt so empty since the gunfight hadn't given him any adrenaline.

“How's the mark?” Franklin said, pointing at the rip in Michael's shirt.

He looked down with a frown, fingering the whole and the large gash in his side that had mostly stopped bleeding. “It hurts like a bitch, what the fuck do you mean,” Michael laughed. “I just barely missed getting shot at. This is definitely not the shit I reminisce about.”

It was almost pitch black darkness had the moon not been out in full force that evening. The air was a surprising 75 degress, a warm yet enjoyable temperature for Paleto. Plus, with Franklin with him, Michael could finally relax and kick back with a buddy instead of doing all this crap by himself.

“Trevor was really pissed off with you,” Franklin said, “And me. Like he called me a fuck ass for calling you over. Then I said he woulda been a dead ass but no he decided to just punch me. Dude is fucking weird, I don't get him.”

Michael shook his head. “You're not supposed to understand him. He's just a pissed off little baby. Mad that he couldn't fight the goons off by himself. It's how he is. He wasn't supposed to be caught off guard like he probably was.”

“They did come in guns blazing.” Franklin mumbled. “Waving their guns around like they were some kind of sparklers. Scared everyone out of the building. I'm still surprised not even a single LSPD fucking came.”

Taking a drag of the blunt, Michael laughed. “You know they pay them to keep quiet.”

“Then why your son going to jail then?”

Tilting his head towards Franklin, he replied, “Because he was dumb and he deserves it. He'll be fine after two years. It'll hopefully straighten him out.”

After the conversations had died down and Franklin and Michael felt finally relaxed from the entire ordeal, Franklin smacked his arm. “Let's go down to the liquor store and get ourselves some beer.”

The nearest one was a twenty-four liquor and gas station near downtown Paleto Bay. Even at it's location, leaving it fairly empty for most of the night, there were still large amounts of liquorless people that made their drive all the way here for that bottle of vodka they so desperately needed at 4 am.

Stepping inside, Franklin made a detour at the magazine section. “They got that new Babes Gone Berzerk out,” Franklin said with a sly smile. “Let see what kind of honeys they got this month.”

Michael had made his way over to the more expensive tastes of wine, wanting to feel a little bit fancy, before stumbling his way to the more high prices beers and vodka, a favorite combination. Liquor stores were like candy stores for Michael and even though they had come for a beer, Michael was inching his way into grabbing a handle.

“Hey Mike?” Franklin began.

“Sup, Franklin?” He said, raising his head above the shelves as he was still inspecting the vodkas.

“You know how you said that jail is going to straighten out Jimmy?”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “... Yeah.”

Franklin turned the magazine he was reading around and held it up for Michael. Under the headline, “18 And Berzerk!” was a photo of something Michael had never wanted to see. And pressing his hand into his eyes, he growled.

“Fucking Tracey!”


	5. De Santas Gone Berserk

For once, Michael's anger was misplaced and Amanda seemed to be on his side of the argument. It was another false family reunion except the missing link was in on the table in the form of a photograph on the inside of a Babes Going Berserk magazine. She was named the hottest at eighteen, even though she wasn't eighteen anymore, and the fresh face of Berzerk. Amanda, who rarely smoked to keep her health, had stolen one out of Michael's after after he had shown her the photo. Jimmy, the one with his eyes constantly befalling on the woman on the page beside her sister, the other fresh face, and he tried to be sly in front of his parents.

“She had to go and do it on something as trashy as Berzerk,” he said with a long drag of his cigarette. “I knew she was going to show her tits eventually but I was hoping that by that time she would have chosen something more classy like on the shit rich old men jerk off too.”

Jimmy's face was one of disgust. “I don't think guys would be interested in Tracey. Not guys like that. She looks too trashy to be a CEO's wet dream.”

“Don't talk about your sister like that,” Amanda huffed. 

“Well she is and I'm the only one who'll admi-”

Michael slammed his hand onto the kitchen table, freezing Jimmy in his place. “This is not the fucking time for the whole family to have a discussion on whether or not my daughter is a whore. It doesn't matter that she's one or if she isn't, what I'm worried about is her being on fucking Babes Going Berserk. 

Franklin had been the one to find the magazine, stating that the girl was hot until he realized she had tattooed De Santa onto her hip. That's when his eyes trailed to the name tag and was surprised that she still let them slap Tracey De Santa onto her page – “She could have at least changed her name or something. Anything man.” Franklin said with disappointment.

“If anybody finds out about this-” Amanda began.

“Unless there's some kind of big news exposure that she is on the magazine, just remember that the person who said that rumor probably shouldn't be reading Babes Gone Berserk since they're all married and most of them are too old to be lusting after them.”

As quickly as she had begun, she was quickly hushed and sat quietly at the opposite side of the table. Jimmy moved to flip the magazine closed. Michael began his third cigarette of the discussion.

“We're driving down to get Tracey, Michael.” Amanda said quietly.

He let out a loud sigh. “Fuck.”

–

Tracey had stated to both her parents that she could be found in a row of beach houses just off the highway--”If you drive to the end, you'll just be on the highway again and you'll know you've gone too far. It's the pink house.”--and had told them to warn her before they were going to show up. Unfortunately, that was not what Amanda had in store and Michael wasn't excited that she had gotten him to tag along with her.

“You know, for being separated,” Michael said, “We sure are spending a lot of time together.”

She turned her head quickly to Michael, rolling her eyes. “You know what, Michael. Fuck you. I don't want this as much as you do. I want to stay at my house and not have to hear that my son's in jail or that my daughter is in a porn magazine.”

“Because it's so much better for me,” he replied.

The house was in fact pink. Recently repainted and blinding pink that stood out from the washed out colored homes around them. And even the car they had last seen Tracey drive was sitting on an incline to the back of the house. “At least it's nice,” Amanda offered.

When Michael knocked on the door, he couldn't see anybody through the frosted glass heading towards the door. He knocked again but was met with more silence. Amanda, on the other hand, had a different approach and she was already halfway around the building before Michael was able to lift his hand for a third knock.

“What are you doing, Amanda?” Michael questioned in a voice just above a raspy whisper.

She poked him hard in the chest. “I'm not going to stand around the front door like a pussy waiting for somebody to answer it. I heard a commotion and wanted to follow the sound.”

This was not something Michael was hoping for. In fact, he kind of wished Amanda was still that “too scared to do crime” woman he had once remembered from the past. Instead he had a woman who was a Michael-clone just like Trevor had said and was already heading into the backyard when Michael finally found his composure again.

“Oh fuck!” Amanda screamed, Michael jogging behind her at the sound.

There was two things Michael had wished he had never seen. One, it was his daughter topless in a magazine cover. Two was probably when he saw Jimmy behind a glass barrier. There was something about seeing a kid in distress that tugged at Michael's paternal heart strings. The third one was probably his daughter about to go down on a black dude's dick.

“Tracey! Shit, you live in a porn house?”

The icing on the cake to Michael's proverbial baked good disaster. He swear he could feel the bile rising from the depths of his stomach and attempt to twist their way through his esophagus. He also wanted to knock out the dude but he knew the dude was not in any trouble for this.

Amanda quickly made her way into the house, knocked over the standing and confused black guy, and wrapped Tracey in the closest article she could find.

With Tracey wrapped tight in a blanket, Amanda began to scream in the middle of the living room where the set was to be taken. It took a few minutes for the assumed manager to head out from around the corner and meet Amanda. 

“Who the fuck let this crazy bitch in and why is she screaming fully clothed?” He waved a hand that was holding a pen around, making him look like he was attempting magic. “I'd like some fucking answers here. Why isn't there porn being filmed in my living room?”

This was probably where, without a doubt, if Trevor had been in the room, Michael would admit that he turned Amanda into a Michael clone without the alcohol problem. The moment when Amanda struck her fist into the dude's jaw, Michael would have turned to Trevor and told him, “Fuck you.”

“What the fuck?” The man exclaimed and even though he was in pain, and obviously the manager of all these people, the sight of him going down was not of any alarm to the others standing around. “Who the fuck let this bitch in and let her punch me? You guys are useless.”

She was ruthless with the few more punches she gave in his direction. She kept screaming words like dirtbag and asshole with every swing that landed and the only way she was removed from the situation was when Michael finally had to pull her back saying that she had had enough.

“I'm going to murder him into a bloody pulp,” she screamed, but didn't fight the restraints Michael had made out of his arms. “I can't believe he would fucking do this.”

He groaned on the ground where Amanda had left him and Michael felt almost at peace with the way he saw her beat them up. The small memory of the reason he loved her flurried up into his skin but was quickly squelched when Amanda roughly ripped her arms around and moved to spit on the jerk.

And for good measure, she kicked him too.

“Good riddance you piece of shit,” she screamed out before making her way through the front door instead of going around like Michael and Tracey had done. 

With Jimmy, Michael had been the one with the anger and that was maybe because of the whole father-son bond that should happen. Or maybe because Michael was tougher on Jimmy then she would ever be. Then there was Tracey who would probably melt under the heat that Amanda's anger burned and that's why she preferred to be closer to her father at this moment.

“She's sitting with me Michael,” she said with gritted teeth, patting the backseat opposite of her she sat. Michael didn't tell her to go to the front and he even kept the passenger door locked so she couldn't attempt to sit in the front seat. And when she climbed beside her mother the face she made almost made Michael wish he had a partition.

–

Michael had counted the entire De Santa family being a family for approximately four hours after removing Tracey from the porn house. They all sat around the kitchen table with Amanda belittling Tracey and Michael staying silent with Jimmy, who had already heard the talk from Michael when he had picked him up from jail. 

“You're such a bitch,” she screamed in the same tone that Amanda was delivering her anger with. “You cannot just remove me from there. It's embarrassing. I was making so much money there.”

Amanda shook her head in disbelief. “I don't care if he was a fucking celebrity. That is not the rode you want to be taking, Tracey. Not with what you have ok?”

“That's what you were,” Tracey huffed.

“That's not the same!”

That quickly hushed Tracey up, who slumped back against her chair with her arms crossed. She would have said something, she was naturally one to constantly talk back to her parents, but after the ordeal she had been put through she wasn't ready for anything else her mother had pent up for her. 

But instead, Amanda lifted herself off her seat and made her way to the front door where she began to slip on her flats. Michael stood behind her, arms crossed like Tracey had been, raising at eyebrow. “Are you leaving already?”

“I'm not going to stick around this house with the kid of kids only your ass would be able to breed,” she snorted.

“So you're leaving me with tweedledee and tweedledum while you go ride a dusty dick?”

She flipped him off as she made her way to the car. 

“John never liked kids!”

–

With his two kids now back at home, Michael wished for that silence that had left him wallowing alone. With the past few days he had spent with Amanda, he suddenly remembered why their marriage was rocky and that he didn't want her back in his life like he had thought so many nights ago. In fact, the moment he even thought of her name angered Michael and reminded him how much he didn't love her anymore. 

Tracey remained agitated and Michael kept her practically locked inside the home. Jimmy was set to go to jail in a few days and that kept Michael tightly wound the entire time. He wasn't sure if he wanted to get angry anymore—he had been so angry for so long he was surprisingly getting tired of it—or if he just wanted to slaughter his kids and get them out of his life.

As awful as Michael was, the thought of killing his kids, even jokingly, was going to far in Michael's eyes. He chugged the beer he had been holding in his hands for a few hours, throwing it into the nearby trash with a solid thud. 

Tracey was asleep (or so he hoped that she hadn't climbed down the window like she did so many times in her youth) and Jimmy had fallen asleep on the couch watching a movie with Michael. It was oddly the way he had hoped for his house to be when he was raising the two of them but without Amanda the family felt misplaced and broken. And that's when he remembered why he missed Amanda; not because of love but because he missed the way his family was. 

Grabbing his cell phone from the kitchen table, he called Franklin. “Dude, let's go hang out. It's getting sad inside my own home.”


End file.
